


end credits

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Communication Failure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8184277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: fill from tumblr re:Clarke and Lexa being stressed out and trying to deal with is using d/s power dynamics. Going a little too far, and then a fluff-fest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> dhfksj this was supposed to be way angstier and it didn't even turn out that angsty fml

Lexa goes home for three days. Clarke eats in bed the first night, which Lexa only allows on lazy mornings, and only after at least two orgasms; Clarke stretches out in panties and mismatched socks and drips soda over the sheets, watching television on her laptop and cracking a bottle of wine. Lexa calls just before she goes to bed. “Hey,” Clarke says, yanking a headphone out. “How’s it going?”

There’s a short, strained silence. “As well as can be expected,” Lexa says. 

“Ah.” Clarke wiggles down, fingers playing at a loose thread. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Clarke noses into the sweatshirt she’d spread over Lexa’s pillow. “I’m being gross without you.”

“Eating on the bed is uncouth, Clarke.”

“Fuck you,” Clarke says, cheerful, and Lexa’s voice warms, goes softly amused. 

“Ants. Roaches.”

“La la la,” Clarke says, sinking low and sighing, nudging the computer shut and yawning. “Can’t hear you over what a good time I’m having.”

Lexa sighs loud enough for Clarke to hear it over the phone. “I miss you.”

“I’m sleeping with your sweatshirt,” Clarke admits. 

“That is gross.”

“Your face is gross.” Clarke’s voice is barely there, her eyelids fluttering shut. She blinks twice. “Sorry. I’m falling asleep. You in bed?”

“Not yet.” Lexa hums, short. “Go to sleep.”

“I can stay up.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Clarke opens her eyes all the way. “Oh?”

“What are you wearing?”

Clarke groans. “Christ, ease me in a little.”

“I’m thinking you’re in those plaid shorts. The ones you got in college, with the holes in the ass.”

“Wrong,” Clarke says, smug. “I’m in panties. The blue ones with the bow.”

“I like those,” Lexa murmurs. Clarke flushes, a burning heat starting in her cheeks and going down her chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“No,” Clarke says, low and teasing, and Lexa inhales, sharp. “I’m in bed. On my back, with the fan going.”

“Oh,” Lexa breathes.

“Yeah. You know what that means.” Clarke traces her nipples with her nails, flicking gently. She lets her voice go lower, get throatier. “Wish you were here.”

“Lose the panties,” Lexa growls, and Clarke wiggles, kicking them off. She puts her phone on speaker and sets it aside, close to her ear.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, soft. “I’m thinking about you lying on our bed, naked. Do you think I could smell you if I was there?”

Clarke shudders. “Yeah,” she breathes. Her legs part and she drags a hand across her belly. 

“Are you wet?”

Clarke trails her fingers against herself. “Yes.” Lexa breathes, heavy, and Clarke makes soft pleased murmurs, pitched low to carry, and starts to roll her hips, eager. Lexa waits until her third helpless moan to speak again.

“One finger.”

“Mm,” Clarke murmurs. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Not as good as yours would.”

Lexa swallows audibly. “I miss you.” There’s something in her voice, a lump in her throat.

Clarke pauses. “Lex?”

“Two fingers,” Lexa requests, and Clarke hesitates before slipping fingers inside herself and crooking gently, scissoring lazy. She makes a soft noise, breathy. “Let me hear you,” Lexa pleads, and Clarke moans, head tipping back. “I want to kiss you,” Lexa whispers. “I want to feel your skin against mine. Want to touch you.”

Clarke cups a hand around her own breast, squeezing. “ _Lexa_.” She squirms, kicking out, thumb against her clit. 

“Can’t stand being away from you,” Lexa continues, almost growling. “Not even for one night.”

“Lexa,” Clarke pants, twisting, “baby, please.”

“I love it when you come on my tongue,” Lexa croons, her breath rasping quick. “Love the taste of you, the sounds you make.” Clarke whines, keening, hips tilted up. “Will you come for me?”

“Yeah,” Clarke manages, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t--don’t stop--”

“Never,” Lexa promises. “Never stop loving you. You and me, Clarke, we’re forever--”

Clarke comes, body locked up and clenching, and slumps back down, quivering. “Lexa,” she mumbles, wiping her fingers across her thigh and then suckling them in her mouth. “Did you--?”

“No,” Lexa says, and she sounds exhausted, sudden and encompassing. “Can I--do you think you could stay on the line a while? Just sleeping.”

“Of course.” Clarke tugs a blanket over herself, too lazy to get up. “You okay, baby?”

“It’s fine. Go to sleep.”

Clarke listens to Lexa breathe for a long time. When she wakes up the next morning her phone is dead.

//

Clarke texts Lexa a picture of her sandwich on a plate, on Lexa’s pillow. Lexa sends back a picture of a swarm of cockroaches. Clarke calls at two and Lexa sends it through it to voicemail. She calls back late, almost eleven, and Clarke is bleary, jerking out of a light doze. “H’llo?”

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is too tight, too low. She clears her throat. “Hello.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I--nothing.”

Clarke sits up, fumbling at the bedside lamp and blinking quick in its light. “Lexa. What’s wrong?”

“I told Indra today.”

“Oh.” Clarke searches for something to say. “And--that clearly went well.”

“As well as I expected.” Lexa sighs. “You were right.”

“She blames me?”

“You have ‘skewed my vision’.”

“Hm.” Clarke yawns, muffling it against her palm and leaning against the headboard. “But it’s okay, because I can get you a great reference for an opthamologist. Great guy, only ever saw him do coke twice in medschool.”

“A ringing endorsement, to be sure.”

“And I can bring in that doctor money, make you my little nonprofit organization family court sugar baby.”

“You have sixty thousand dollars in student loans, Clarke.”

“I can bring in those free ramen packets from the break room.”

Lexa chuckles, still faintly strained. “What a catch.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Clarke says, gentling her voice. “And I’ll be proud of you if you go back to a private firm. As long as it’s what you want.”

“I’m proud of my career change, Clarke. But I can’t pretend Indra’s opinions don’t matter.”

“Or that her disappointment doesn’t hurt?”

Lexa is silent for a moment. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay. Are you in the house?”

Another short silence. “No. I’m in a hotel.”

Clarke sighs before she can stop herself. “Lexa.”

“I thought it best to give tempers some time to cool.”

“You should have called me when you checked in.”

“I needed some time.” Lexa pauses. “I’m sitting on the bed.” Her voice is careful, angling towards something she can’t quite ask for.

“Do you have--” Clarke casts her mind about, frowning. “--nail polish?”

Lexa’s voice comes fast, relieved. “Yes. Two colors.”

“Blue and green?” It’s what Lexa usually packs in her toiletry kit.

“Yes.”

“Which do you want?”

Lexa’s voice comes out hesitant. “Whichever you want.”

Clarke hums, pleased. “Good. Get the blue and sit on the bed.” She listens to Lexa scramble up, her clothes rustling.

“Got it,” she says, almost breathless. 

“Toes,” Clarke orders, and then tells Lexa about her day, keeping her voice even and easy and lulling, patients she saw and Raven’s most recent brush with burning down her lab and the entire research building with it. By the time Lexa whispers _done_ she’s gone breathy and dreamy. “Send me a picture.”

Her phone buzzes and she pulls it away from her ear to check before making a pleased noise down the line to Lexa. “Pretty girl. How do you feel?”

“Better,” Lexa whispers. “Please?”

“Got a pen, baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Get it. Take off your clothes and sit on the floor.”

Some distant rustling, rushed, and Lexa’s voice, even lower. “Okay.”

“Lie down on your back. Feel that carpet on your back, prickly? Put your fingers in it, feel the fibers. Listen to my voice.” Clarke lowers her voice to a rumble, constant and reassuring. “You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. The toughest person with the gentlest heart. You’re going to do so many great things, baby, and you’re amazing. I love you.”

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers. 

“Take the pen, and write my name on your hip, just on the bone. You’re my good girl, and when you come back I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Lexa moans, soft.

“You want me on my knees, baby? You like it when I sit on your face. Press down hard, okay? It’ll wash off in the shower but you can touch it tomorrow and feel me with you. I love you.”

“I love you,” Lexa murmurs. She exhales, long.

“Feel better?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Get into bed.”

“Mm.”

Clarke waits. “Lexa.”

“M’comfortable.”

“Lexa. Get into bed.”

Lexa grumbles. There’s a soft noise, linens rustling, and she sighs. “Stay for a minute?”

“Of course,” Clarke promises. “Touch your hair, baby, and close your eyes. Feel my fingers against your scalp.” She listens to Lexa breathe, murmuring all the little things she misses; the beepbeep of Lexa’s alarm and how she always starts to coffee machine for Clarke and pours it in her travel cup with the perfect amount of creamer and light sugar, eating dinner together and Clarke leaning on the counter chatting while Lexa does dishes and curling up on the couch together. 

++

Clarke comes home and Lexa is asleep on the couch. Clarke drops her bag on the ground and dumps the takeout on the table; Lexa wakes with an _oompf_ when she jumps on her, her arms coming up to curl around Clarke automatically. “Hi,” she greets, sleepy. 

Clarke kisses her. “Tease,” she accuses, nuzzling across Lexa’s jaw to nip at her ear. “Telling me you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

“I cut my trip short. Lincoln will attempt damage control later in the week.”

“Not Anya?”

“Lincoln will prevent any bodily harm. They haven’t had a screaming match in almost a month, it was due.”

Clarke frowns, running her hands down Lexa’s sides. “You’re okay? You know I’d tell her to fuck off if you wanted.”

“If I could tell her to fuck off I wouldn’t feel so shitty about it.” Lexa stretches, cracking her shoulders and neck with a faint groan. “She was the first person to ever believe in me, and her criticism comes from love. It will pass.”

“Still.” Clarke taps her hip. “Did it help?”

“Wait--” Clarke yanks her shirt up and Lexa isn’t quick enough to stop her. Clarke blinks. Then she glares. _Clarke_ is still there, shaky handwriting, and at some points the pen was dug in so deep it drew blood, scabbed over. 

“Lexa.”

Lexa shifts under her. “I cleaned it,” she muttered.

Clarke stands. “Don’t move a goddamn muscle.”

Lexa doesn’t speak until Clarke is dabbing antiseptic against the faint scratch. “I cleaned it.”

“You never should have let it get this bad.” Clarke flicks the _k_ , slightly reddened, clearly having been picked at. “You should have called me.”

“You were working,” Lexa mutters. She shifts under Clarke’s fingers. “I did decide to come back early.”

“Yes.” Clarke kisses between her eyebrows. “I’m still cranky.” She moves to leave and Lexa grabs her by the wrist, looking down. 

“I--”

Clarke kisses her again, soft, then bites her bottom lip, rough. “What do you need.”

Lexa swallows. She tips her head back, baring her neck, and looks at Clarke with pleading eyes. Her voice whispers, barely audible: “Please.”

Clarke lays a palm over her throat. She squeezes, slow and steady and relentless, until Lexa makes a noise, choked. She releases. “Rough?”

Lexa nods, jerky, hooded eyes. Her voice rasps. “Rough.”

++

Lexa’s back rattles against the wall, her foot scrambling to stay under her, head tipped forward and flopping on Clarke’s shoulder as she pants open mouthed and drooling into Clarke’s collarbones, biting mindlessly, desperately. Clarke growls, grabbing Lexa’s leg around her waist and yanking it up higher, pulling almost all the way out before slamming the strap on home, punishing, fucking Lexa while she writhes. She whines, breaking into a harsh moan, and scrabbles at Clarke’s back, clawing her closer.

Clarke pulls out and Lexa sobs, protesting. Clarke pinches her hip. “Shhh. I’ve got you.” She drags Lexa across the room, stumbling, and sweeps an arm over the dresser. Knick knacks clatter to the floor, a pair of Clarke’s earrings and Lexa’s keys. Lexa bends over it, eager, lifting her hips, and Clarke slides into her from behind, pausing to bite at the back of her neck and wind a fistful of Lexa’s hair through her fingers before setting a brutal pace. The dresser slams against the wall, scraping against the floor, and Lexa shudders, writhing under her, begging in short gasps. “Come on,” Clarke coaxes in a rough growl, “you can do it, baby.”

Lexa tries to say her name and only gets through the first syllable. 

“I’ve got you. Come for me. Be my good girl.”

Lexa stills, locked up, then goes limp in a series of shivers. Clarke thrusts into her, gentle and easy, until she murmurs, a hand reaching back to grip Clarke’s thigh. “Clarke.”

Clarke pulls out and draws Lexa up against her, walking in little shuffling steps to the bed and collapsing. “Okay?”

Lexa licks her throat. “Mm.” She curls closer and Clarke wraps her up. She kisses Lexa’s sweaty temple. 

“Gonna be gross tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

Clarke pokes her. “Hey. Wake up and pay attention to me.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. She bites Clarke’s shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

++

Anya comes over three days later with two bottles of tequila and a plastic bag of limes. “I assume even you have salt.” She shoulders past Clarke into the apartment. “Lexa! The pity train is here.”

Lexa emerges from the hallway. “Are you the only passenger?”

“Fuck off.” Anya drops the bag on the counter and drinks straight from one bottle, then the other. Clarke raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Do you know how good you’ve made me look to Indra? Bartending might bring in more money than what you want to do.”

Lexa mutters, dark, but something eases in her at Anya’s casual acceptance. Anya touches her shoulder, awkward, and Lexa nods. They smile at each other, just a flicker, and then Anya socks her in the bicep. “Sap,” Lexa accuses, and Anya punches her again.

“Fuck off.”

“Alright,” Clarke says, fond, “don’t have too much fun.” She picks up her bag and they turn, looking similar in the way they do when Clarke thinks they might actually be sisters, identical expressions and body language.

“Where are you going?” Lexa asks, frowning. She looks at Anya. “Did you forget the limes?”

Anya holds up the bag, shooting Clarke a quizzical look. “No, I got them.”

Clarke pauses by the door. “Oh. I thought…” her voice goes up at the end, hesitant. Anya rolls her eyes.

“Come get drunk with us. I’ll tell you about the time Lexa got high and climbed the trellis because she thought I had chips under my bed.”

Lexa flushes. “She did have chips under her bed,” she tells Clarke, muttered. 

Clarke snags a bottle from Anya’s hand. “Cut me a lime wedge.”

++

Clarke is getting out of the shower when Lexa slips into the bathroom, kissing her awkwardly, leaning away to keep her clothes dry. “I called you in.”

Clarke blinks. “What?”

“Well, I scheduled it beforehand. The whole week. Call me at lunch?” Lexa kisses her again, gentle, and escapes while Clarke is still gaping.

Clarke catches up to her with one foot out the door. “Hey!”

Lexa sighs. “We do this every year. Can you just accept it this time?”

Clarke points at her. “When you get home.”

Lexa nods. “When I get home.”

++

Lexa comes home with flowers and pad thai. “You--” Clarke inhales and stops. She makes grabby hands at the takeout. “Okay. After I eat.”

“After you eat,” Lexa agrees. She puts the flowers in a vase and touches the petals, smiling soft. 

++

Clarke sets her plate aside, burping faintly and chugging half a glass of water, sliding down into the couch. She remembers why she’s upset and sits up straight. “You--”

Lexa slides behind her and kisses her neck, open mouthed. She massages at Clarke’s shoulder and nips a the sensitive spot just below Clarke’s jaw. “I want to eat you out,” she rumbles against the curve of Clarke’s ear. 

“I--” Clarke tries to hold on to her anger. Lexa slips hand up her shirt and gropes over the front of her bra, teasing. She pinches through the fabric and Clarke abruptly loses her train of thought. “Yeah, okay.”

++

“Okay,” Clarke pants, sprawled on the floor on her back, body tingling, an arm curled around Lexa. “No escape now.”

Lexa mouths across her chest, easy and sated. “Mm.”

Clarke flicks her in the jaw. “Don’t fall asleep, I’m mad at you.”

Lexa grumbles against the underside of her left breast. “Made you come. Twice.”

“You can’t just call me out of work without telling me.”

Lexa sighs. She rolls over to lie shoulder to shoulder with Clarke. They look at the ceiling together. “This is a difficult time for you. Every year, I think about how I can make it better.”

Clarke finds Lexa’s hand with her own and links their fingers. “You make it better just by being with me.”

“Try it this year. Having a vacation.” Lexa squeezes her hand. “Drive up and visit him. Sleep in, paint a little. You deserve it.”

“You still should have talked to me first.” Lexa makes an agreeable noise. She kisses Clarke’s shoulder. “Will you come with me? Tomorrow?”

“Always,” Lexa promises.

++

Lexa pokes her head into the bedroom. Clarke is frowning at her reflection, fingers still on the top button of her blouse. She meets Lexa’s eyes in the mirror. “He liked me in blue--I used to say I wouldn’t wear white to my wedding and he’d joke the whole dress could be my something blue.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “He’ll never give me away.”

Lexa steps up behind her and reaches around, gently batting her fingers away and doing up the last few buttons with neat quick movements. “He would have been proud of you.”

Clarke catches her hand and holds it, grateful. “He would have liked you.”

“Obviously,” Lexa says, and Clarke laughs. 

 

His grave is neat and Clarke touches the engraved letters. “Hey Dad. Lexa’s here with me.” Lexa crouches, leaving flowers, fixing the ribbon just so. She holds Clarke’s hand while they walk away. 

++

Clarke stares at a blank canvas for three hours. She has lunch with her mother and it’s just as painful as she figured it would be. They avoid talking about anything of consequence and therefore have nothing to say at all after the preliminary chatting about common patients is over. It’s still nice, in an odd lingering uncomfortable way. 

She makes dinner for Lexa and Lexa makes appropriate appreciative noises and mocking amazed noises until she pinches Lexa’s ribs and leans her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa stills, reaching up to touch her hair, gentle. They sway for a moment. “Alright?”

Clarke kisses the back of her head. “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

++

Clarke is surly and she doesn’t know why. She tries to pick a fight with Lexa while Lexa is in the shower, Lexa pausing to stick her face out of the curtain, sudsy and confused. “I don’t squeeze the toothpaste from the middle,” she says, “you do.”

Clarke shakes the tube at her and makes a furious noise. Lexa blinks, then retreats, clearly deciding not to engage, and Clarke slams the door behind her. 

She’s recovered enough to mutter sorry as Lexa leaves, although not enough to not sound sulky about it. Lexa takes her hand and kisses her wrist, leaving a faint smudge of lip color behind. “See you soon,” she says, mild, and leaves. 

++

Clarke is covered in paint when Lexa gets home. She hears the front door open and shut, Lexa’s feet passing by on her way to the bedroom. It’s a few minutes before Lexa walks into the small room, more of a large closet, and touches Clarke’s shoulder. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Clarke says, trying to take a deep breath. 

“Did I miss a small explosion?” Lexa toes at a layer of droplets on the floor. 

“I guess.” Clarke twists away from her touch and Lexa’s hand drops. She searches Clarke’s face. 

“Would you prefer some time alone?”

“Yes.”

Lexa nods. “Should I sleep on the couch?”

“No,” Clarke says, quick. “No. You haven’t done anything wrong, I’m just…” She shrugs. 

Lexa nods again. “I’ll leave a plate out,” she says, carefully measured. “Put it in the fridge if you don’t eat it.”

++

Clarke slides into the bed very late and lays a hand on Lexa’s hip, hesitant. Lexa stirs, waking slightly, and smiles, her lip curved just the slightest bit. “You’re here,” she mumbles, and wiggles closer. 

Clarke kisses her forehead. “I’m here. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I get like this.”

“Ssh,” Lexa murmurs, turning Clarke around and tucking her in close. “It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

“I love you,” Clarke says, and sighs, long, before nosing into the pillow. It smells like Lexa and she closes her eyes.

++

Clarke is glowering at the stove when Lexa comes home. “Cooking with the power of your hatred?”

Clarke tilts her head up for a kiss, absent minded. “It won’t light.”

Lexa reaches for the matches and Clarke growls. “Let me try?”

“No. It won’t light and it’s stupid and I hate it. Why do we need a gas stove? Neither of us care about cooking. And if we have a gas stove, why don’t we ever fix the self-ignition thing? It’s stupid. We’re stupid.”

Lexa pauses. Her arm drops. “I see.”

Clarke directs her glare back to the stove. “I hate it.”

“I understand.” Lexa kisses her temple and retreats, footsteps clicking. 

Clarke glowers harder. There’s silence, and she hears Lexa come back, barefoot. “I’m not--” she starts, turning, then stops. She swallows. Lexa kneels at her feet, naked, head tipped back to show the collar around her throat, hands palm down on her thighs. She looks at Clarke through her lashes then lets her gaze slide to the side, demure. “Lexa,” Clarke murmurs, the name slipping out. “Are you…?”

Lexa licks her lips. Her voice comes out soft, whispered, and she curls her fingers around Clarke's ankle. “Please, miss.”

Clarke jerks. She shivers. “Will you--rough?”

“Yes miss.” Lexa lets her mouth part, slack, and Clarke cradles her jaw, slips her thumb in to press at the back of Lexa’s tongue, sliding until she gags. Lexa moans, soft, around her fingers, and Clarke thrusts once, hard, to feel Lexa’s throat against her knuckles. She fucks Lexa’s mouth until drool trails from the corner of her mouth and strings between her fingers. She wipes them clean across Lexa’s cheek and jaw. 

“You look good like this.” She steps closer, bearing down, breathing quick. She can feel her pulse in the roof of her mouth. 

Lexa nods, swallowing. “Thank you miss,” she says, and her voice rasps, hoarse. 

Clarke steps around her, fingers trailing across her throat. She tightens for a second, then her legs buckle. She falls against Lexa’s back, bearing her to the floor. She growls against the back of Lexa’s neck, biting down hard. “Gonna be a good girl for me?” She slides in a finger, hard and fast and almost punishing, and Lexa yelps, twisting under her. Clarke bites her again, just below the first mark, digging in her teeth and snarling and adding another finger. “Be good,” she says, and ruts against Lexa’s back, long dragging thrusts that move Lexa roughly against the tile, her skin squeaking. She tastes blood, sudden and sharp, and it shocks her into stillness. She pulls away, blinking, her vision clearing.

Lexa squirms. “Miss?”

Panic sets in, Clarke scrabbling to press the sleeve of her shirt against the faint drop of blood welling on Lexa’s spine. “Lexa, oh my god, Lexa--” She falls to the side, running fingers down Lexa’s skin, searching for injury.

Lexa blinks at her, hazy and confused, a little lost. “Clarke?”

Clarke draws away, folding her legs up under herself. She leans her head in her hands. “We promised we wouldn’t do this to each other.”

Lexa sits up, her chin on her knee and her eyes soft. “You--you helped me when I was. You know.”

“If I known you’d drawn blood I would have stopped it. We promised.”

“I want to help. I can take it--” Lexa’s face is almost mulish, and she scoots forward, taking Clarke's hands in her own. “I could have safeworded.”

Clarke draws her into a careful kiss, closed mouth. “I worry about that.”

Lexa frowns. “But--”

Clarke kisses the inside of one wrist, then the other, lingering to feel Lexa’s pulse flutter against her dry lips. “Take me to bed?”

++

They curl up, naked, the sheets draped around their waists, and Lexa slides her fingers through Clarke’s hair, over and over. “You make it better,” Clarke promises, drowsy. “Just by being you.”

“As do you,” Lexa murmurs. They fall asleep holding hands.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think and catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
